


Walking Calamity

by TheCookieOfDoom



Category: American Assassin (2017), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Bartender Mitch Rapp, Chivalry Isn't Dead Afterall, Cliche, Fluff, Getting Together, Human Disaster Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pre-Relationship, St. Patrick's Day, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waiter Stiles Stilinski, chocolate malts to cure all your ails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: “What was that about?” he asked, biting the edge of his thumbnail.“Something was off about that guy.” Mitch scowled after him, wiping down the bar with a damp cloth. “I dunno, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you all night.”“Look at you, defending my honor,” Stiles cooed. Mitch rolled his eyes.“Shut up.”“I’m serious! You’re totally my knight in shining armor!”





	Walking Calamity

**Author's Note:**

> 100% inspired by a drink I got at a bar once that was fkn amazing, and is the sole reason i like (chocolate) shakes now. I started writing this really late last night out of nowhere, and then it just became a whole thing and I kept going. I actually love it though? Mostly because it is a oneshot and I have not successfully written one of those in like 2 years lol yay for finishing a project for once!

“Hey, Stiles,” Mitch called, side-eyeing the guy who’d been watching the kid all night. Now that Stiles was making to clock out for the night, the guy looked like he was getting ready to leave. “Your dad here yet?”

“Nah, had to wrap something up at work. He should be here soon, though.”

“Wait in here until he shows up.” 

“Okaaay.” Stiles hopped up onto an empty barstool, taking off his metal name tag and fiddling with it. “Any particular reason why?”

“It’s late, and I don’t want you waiting out there alone.”  Seeing that Mitch wasn’t going to let Stiles out of his sight, the creepy guy eventually gave up and left, and Mitch relaxed somewhat. Stiles was quick to notice the change in his body language.

“What was that about?” he asked, biting the edge of his thumbnail.

“Something was off about that guy.” Mitch scowled after him, wiping down the bar with a damp cloth. “I dunno, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you all night.”

“Look at you, defending my honor,” Stiles cooed. Mitch rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! You’re totally my knight in shining armor!”

“Whatever.” Stiles grinned after him as he was called away for refills, mixing cocktails with a kind of ease that could only come from natural talent. There was no doubt the man was good with his hands; Stiles may have started drooling a little bit, thinking of what else he might be able to do with those dexterous fingers.  When Mitch came back over, Stiles’ teasing grin had softened into a fond look, his chin propped up on his hand as he waited for the bartender to return.

“What?” Mitch asked.

“You’re a good guy, Mitch.” Stiles meant it, too. Mitch was always looking out for his coworkers, always the first to intervene when patrons got too rowdy with the female bartenders, and walking waitresses back to their cars after late-night shifts.

“Thanks.” Mitch smiled a bit at the unexpected compliment. It made Stiles feel all warm and gooey inside, knowing he could make Mitch smile like that. He wondered if the hearts in his eyes were as obvious as they felt. To someone like Mitch, who always had people fawning over him all night, Stiles was sure they were. “Anything from your dad, yet?” Stiles pulled out his phone to check, but there was nothing.

“No, but he’s probably driving.” He only clocked out fifteen minutes ago, he wasn’t surprised that his dad wasn’t there yet. Didn’t particularly mind either, since it meant he got to spend more time with Mitch. 

Sort of, anyway. This late at night people were coming for the bar more than the restaurant, so Mitch and the four other bartenders were kept pretty busy. He made sure to check in when he could, though, and it was always fun to watch Mitch work.

Less fun to watch gorgeous women shamelessly flirting with him. Mitch always politely declined their advances in such a way that maintained rapport - and almost always guaranteed a generous tip - but Stiles couldn’t help but be a little jealous.

It wasn’t like Stiles had any delusions of having a chance with Mitch—the guy was so far out of his league it was unreal. Twenty-four years old and hot like burning, he had no reason to look twice at skinny, awkward, jailbait Stiles.

Stiles was startled when his phone rang, his dad’s contact lighting up the screen as police sirens rang out. 

“Sup, daddy-o, are you almost here?” Stiles asked, halfway to his feet. 

“No, Stiles, I’m so sorry, there was a call—“ Stiles tuned out after that, more than familiar with this script. He was glad his dad was saving people—he  _ was _ —but it was edging closer to 11pm and he was  _ tired _ . It had been a long night; Friday’s at the restaurant were usually busy, and today was St. Patrick’s to top it off, a lot of people had been—and still were—out celebrating. 

Mitch came over during a lull in the activity, able to guess what the phone call had been about from the way Stiles slumped over the bar, picking at a little scrape in the wood. 

“You’re dad’s not coming yet?” 

“No,” Stiles mumbled. “Some incident he had to go deal with.”

“Is there anyone else you can call?” Stiles shook his head. 

“Not this late.” Melissa was working a night shift, and Scott didn’t have his license yet—mostly because Melissa didn’t have the time to teach him, bless her. Taking the night shifts for the extra bonus pay meant she was asleep when Scott got home from school, and had to leave soon after. 

Mitch checked his watch, then rapped his knuckles on the bar to get Stiles’ attention. 

“Tell you what, my break’s at 11:15. If you don’t hear from your dad by then, I’ll take you home.”

“You sure?” Stiles asked hopefully. 

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise. You know I don’t do bullshit social niceties.” That got a smile out of Stiles. “You want anything in the meantime?”

“A dry martini, extra olives.” Stiles put on his best smolder and English accent. “Shaken, not stirred.” 

“I think not.” 

A few minutes later Mitch was setting a plate of fries down in front of him, and a chocolate malt shake. It was garnished with mint leaves cut into little shamrocks. Stiles looked up at him in wonder. “You are my favorite person,” he said seriously.

Mitch scruffed his hair affectionately—Stiles tried not to lean into it too much—and stole a fry.

“Hang tight, kiddo,” he said before getting back to work.

Stiles took out his phone to entertain himself, scrolling through apps for a way to kill the next half hour.  Before he knew it the time was up. He texted his dad at 11 to let him know he had a ride, and spent the next few minutes slurping up the dregs of his shake. He had no idea what Mitch did, but none of the other bartenders could make them like his. 

“You ready to go?” Mitch asked after he clocked out, coming out from behind the bar. Stiles saw the leather jacket folded over his arm, the motorcycle helmet he held in one hand, and felt an excited tingle run down his spine.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly, scurrying up to follow Mitch outside. 

The night was cool and crisp with early spring, the last traces of winter clinging to the night.  Mitch brought him to a sleek black GSX-R. Stiles whistled appreciatively.

“Wow, I am like ten times more attracted to you now.”

“Watch yourself, kid,” Mitch said, grinning as he handed Stiles his leather jacket. Stiles tried not to do something weird like sniff the collar when he put it on, but the temptation was there; he really liked Mitch’s cologne. He may have also swooned a little bit when Mitch slid onto the bike like mercury. 

“Here, put in your address,” Mitch said, unlocking his phone and handing it to Stiles. After he took it back and locked it into its mount, and nodded for Stiles to join. His grin was challenging. “It’s not too late to back to change your mind.”

“Screw that.” 

Wrapping his arms around Mitch’s chest—and feeling just how built he was under that modest button up, Jesus—was easily one of the top ten experiences of Stiles’ life. Then Mitch pushed his hands lower, around his abdomen so Stiles wouldn’t get in the way, and yep, totally the best moment of his life. 

“Hold on tight,” Mitch told him and there was really nothing Stiles would rather do in this moment. 

Mitch pulled on his helmet, snapped the visor closed, and revved the engine to life with a throaty purr. Stiles plastered himself to the man’s back, certain that Mitch would feel the rapid pulse of his heart.

***

Stiles kept his eyes shut against the wind ripping through his hair, his face buried against Mitch’s shoulder. Street lights blurred into ribbons of color as they tore past and Stiles was amazed once he was finally brave enough to look, his arms tightening around Mitch. 

“Doing okay?” Mitch called at a red light. Stiles nodded against his shoulder.

“This is fucking  _ awesome _ !” 

All too soon it was over, Mitch pulling up to Stiles’ house and turning off the bike. Stiles’ legs were wobbling when he got off, and Mitch had to catch him before he fell. The vibrations from the engine left him feeling like his legs were shaking out of their sockets. 

“How can you  _ walk _ ?” Stiles asked. Mitch was perfectly steady. 

“You get used to it.” He ran a hand through his messy hair—now Stiles knew why he always had sex hair—and left his helmet on the bike. “C’mon, I’ll walk you up.” 

“How chivalrous.” 

“Just trying to make sure you don’t fall and sprain something.” Stiles shouted in indignation, smacking Mitch’s arm as they walked up the driveway. 

“That was  _ one time _ !” It was his second week working at the restaurant. He’d managed to carry out a heavy tray full of food without incident, but returning for the rest of the order proved too much of a challenge. He wound up with a sprained ankle and a cut on his forehead from knocking against the edge of the bar that bled everywhere. All of that right in front of his crush, because his luck really was that bad. Mitch had kindly stitched him up with butterfly tape while his boss called his dad, and the memory still made Stiles cringe. 

“It left an impression,” Mitch said dryly, probably remembering the copious amounts of blood. Someone had fainted upon seeing it, and several of the other servers freaked out wanting to call an ambulance; luckily Mitch knew head wounds just bled alot, and aside from the abject humiliation, Stiles would probably be okay. 

“Please don’t remind me.” Stiles shrugged off Mitch’s jacket and held it out to him, blushing when their hands brushed as he took it back. “I’d invite you in but I guess you have to get back, so… thank you for bringing me home. I was  _ not  _ looking forward to being stranded all night.” God knows when his dad would be able to come get him.

“Anytime.”

The rain clouds that had been gathering over the city all day finally started to let down, and Stiles decided to take it as the universe giving him a sign. 

“Y’know, if this were a movie, the main characters would totally be kissing right now,” he said, cheeks heating before the words even left his mouth. Too late to take them back now. 

“Life isn’t a movie, and I’m too old for you,” Mitch said, but Stiles caught the way he glanced down at his mouth, like even he didn’t fully believe what he was saying. It emboldened Stiles to continue. 

“Well, my birthday is in a few weeks, so…” Stiles looked up at Mitch with a hopeful smile. For a second there he thought Mitch was actually about to kiss him.

“Hit me up when you’re eighteen,” he said instead, and it took Stiles a moment to get what he was implying. By the time he did, Mitch was walking back to his motorcycle.

“Wait, wait, wait! Are you serious? For real?” 

Mitch’s grin was wicked. All he said was, “Goodnight, Stiles.” 

“Oh my god.” Stiles couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he finally went inside, his stomach fluttering with butterflies, because  _ holy shit, he actually stood a chance.  _

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiring dialogue for this didn't even make it into the fic, I am so miffed. So here it is now: 
> 
> “I think bossman might not approve a minor hanging out at the bar, there’s rules against that kind of thing.” 
> 
> “If he has an issue with it he can take it up with me.”
> 
> “Look at you, risking your job security for little old me,” Stiles cooed, batting his eyelashes.


End file.
